


Aftermath

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, bottom!poe, top!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's had a really. Really. REALLY bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mendressa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendressa/gifts).



It’s been a hard day for everyone. Kylo can feel the tension around the base, whichever room he’s in. Drawn faces, bitten lips, chipped nails. The edges of every exposed fabric frayed like nerve endings bared to the chilly, early winter’s night. 

Some days you win. Some days you… lose is the wrong word, but it’s not _win_.

No one died, but he knows at least one pilot is in critical condition, and two X-Wings are in an unflyable state. It could be a lot worse, but it’s going to make Poe feel really fucking crappy, and Kylo hates when Poe feels crappy. Not that he thinks he _shouldn’t_ , but because he prefers it when his beloved isn’t going through the wringer. 

Poe gets home late, and there’s harrowed pain in the hollows of his eyes and cheeks, a smile that’s genuine, but not deeply felt curving only up to his cheeks. 

“Hey,” his boyfriend says.

Kylo’s automatic reaction is to freak the fuck out. That’s what the inside of him is saying: _bad bad bad bad bad_ and _run_. It’s counter-productive, but he’s always had difficulty being in the same room as someone who is genuinely distressed. (Even - no - **especially** when he was the cause.) But this is Poe, and Poe is sad, and Kylo loves Poe, and he wants to make him feel better.  


“Hey yourself,” he replies, making sure not to let the verbal sense-memory of ‘how are you’ or ‘how was your day’ slip out afterwards. It’s there, on his tongue, and he swallows it down feeling it stick in his craw.  


Poe’s in his flight suit, still, but his helmet is back in Black One. Kylo walks over to him, a moment of desperate scansion of body-language… and then he opens his arms and pulls Poe in, willing or not. 

It turns out he _is_ willing, and the shorter man pushes his head under Kylo’s chin, his arms catching on his tunic as he tries to burrow in for comfort. Kylo’s own embrace is wide, and he wraps him up fully in his grip, kissing softly at his hair and murmuring a low reassurance, a collection of words that mean less than the tone they’re in.

They rock like that for a while, and he feels how Poe’s body alternately tenses and releases: wound up and then despairing, resigned to sorrow. It isn’t like Poe at all, and Kylo knows he has to help, somehow. Anyhow. Normally, he’d say _let’s go fly_ , but he knows it might well trigger a melt-down, and he isn’t sure Poe’s ready for that, not yet. The pain is still too fresh in his mind, and he knows - knows - that even though his flyboy lover couldn’t have done anything better that Poe will blame himself for every. Single. Problem.

Kylo knows, because he would do the same. He’d been stuck base-side for this, the battle only aerial and thus far beyond his capabilities. He’s a decent gunner, but he wasn’t needed in any of the ships the Resistance flies. 

“Wanna take a speederbike out?”   


“…yeah.”   


Poe doesn’t even argue, just holds himself in for a bit longer, then steps back. His jaw is tense and looks like it’s made of durasteel, and Kylo’s heart breaks all over again. He glances a hand to the back of Poe’s, and then follows him out to the bike. Poe tosses the spare helmet to him, and they both strap in. It’s probably not needed because Poe’s actually good at this, and Kylo could save them from most collisions, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Especially if he’s in a foul mood.

His pilot leaps on first, and Kylo settles into place behind him. His hands slide around his waist, meeting in the middle, chest pressed along Poe’s spine. The bike kicks off and he’s always struck by how Poe’s checking of the path ahead is so low-key as to be almost invisible. He spends his whole life measuring spaces, trajectories, distance, obstacles… Kylo has to really focus if he’s behind the controls, checking and re-checking. Even with the Force, he doesn’t feel like it’s second nature how Poe does. 

It’s not fully dark yet, but the speeder’s headlights cut through the creeping dark, and bugs fly in and out of their range as they zoom through. Yet another reason to be wearing the helmets.

The speeder vibrates slowly between their thighs, and the wind resistance drags over hands and his nose, so Kylo closes his eyes and simply relaxes into it, lightly reaching through their Bond to try to siphon off some of the bad mood, but Poe thinks loudly _no_ , so he stops. 

 _I need to feel it,_  Poe thinks at him. _I need to_.

Kylo sends instead the feeling **he** has, one of concern and love, but doesn’t push the matter any further.

On they drive, on and on, and then Poe just… breaks. Breaks, in his arms, and brakes the bike, kicking the engine down to nothing and using a bootheel to spin them around to stillness. The machine keeps humming, but Poe’s lost the impetus to keep going.

“I nearly lost him,” he says, looking out into the nowhere place they’ve flown to.   


“But you didn’t.”  


“But I _could have_ ,” Poe pushes, and then swings off the bike and strides from it. His hands are knotted up in anger, in a frustration without a possible outlet to resolve it. He can’t fight the past, and he can’t undo what happened.  


Neither can Kylo. 

What Kylo _can_ do, though, is walk up behind him, pulling his helmet off to get rid of the barrier. Walk up and wrap around him from behind, and not resist when Poe turns, his own helmet thrown off to one side and eyes full of fury blazing up at him.

“Let go,” Poe hisses, pushing at his chest.  


“No. No. I won’t.”  


“I don’t fucking _deserve_ your sympathy, you idiot!”  


“You do. You do. You made mistakes, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.”  


“It makes me a fuck up of a leader!” Poe insists, and _shoves_ at him.  


Kylo doesn’t want to do this, but Poe’s been there for him so many, many times. So many. He stands, and looks down with nothing but compassion on his face. “It makes you Human.”

“Yeah - well - your _mother_ wouldn’t–”  


“Wouldn’t make mistakes? Like… let her child be preyed on? While we’re at it… she wouldn’t fall to the Dark Side under a malicious external force, either, would she? Because you clearly would.”  


Poe’s internal walls slam up, then, but it needs doing. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”  


“I don’t have the fucking Force.”  


“And I _know_ you’d be too good and noble and true to ever fall for the Dark.”  


“ _Don’t_.”  


“Why not? Someone has to tell you. If you won’t forgive yourself a _mistake_ , why would you forgive me?”  


Poe punches him. Hard. Just to the right of his solar plexus. Kylo takes the hit, and doesn’t flinch. He knows this anger isn’t directed at him, knows it’s self-loathing, and he knows Poe struggles to voice it, to deal with it. He keeps that happy, in-control mask up for so long that he forgets how to be without it.

“Fuck you!” Poe snarls. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”  


“Because I _love_ you, and because _you did nothing wrong_.”  


“I just fucking hit you!”  


“And I’d let you do it again, if it helped. Did it?”  


“No!”  


“Then what will?”  


“Don’t you think if I knew I’d do it?”  


Yes, and no. Sometimes you know what’s wrong, and you know how to fix it, but you don’t think you deserve it. Kylo takes Poe’s hands in his own, even when he fights to pull them away, and pulls him against him again. Poe vibrates in irritation, and then - and then - he grabs at Kylo’s clothes and shoves his face into Kylo’s chest and _screams_.

Wordless, senseless screams. Screams of grief, rage, and horror. Screams of self-hatred, of terror, of knowledge. He yells and yells and Kylo can feel the tears seeping into his clothes from where Poe’s lodged his face. On and on until he’s screamed out, and then he flops against him.

Kylo breathes, and pulls Poe in, holding him in place as he moves to sit down on the ground with him. Poe obliges (limbs akimbo in the process), and then he’s sitting cross-legged with Poe nestled in the space between his thighs. 

“I’m sorry,” Poe says, sounding infinitely mournful.  


“It’s fine,” Kylo says, and kisses his neck. “Believe me, it’s more than fine.”  


“I– I just–”  


“You don’t need to explain to me,” Kylo reminds him, and scrunches his hair under his fingers, keeping him close, feeling his breathing start to regulate. “Believe me, I understand. You’d do the same for me - you already _have_.”  


“Can… can we just… sit for a while?”  


Kylo nods. “You want to talk?”

“No, just… hold me? I think… I think I need to be sad for a bit more.”  


“Alright. I’m here. The minute you want to talk, or leave…”  


“Thanks, babe.” Poe sighs, and Kylo holds him.  


***

Eventually the night air gets a little nippy, and he feels Poe shivering slightly, despite the close contact. He stubbornly says nothing until Kylo asks: “Ready?”

Poe nods, and they get up carefully. His knees have seized a little from holding the pilot between them, but it only takes a little shake to get them functional again. 

Kylo grabs his helmet as Poe walks to fetch his, sees his fingers glide over a faint scratch to the surface. He did throw it with a fair bit of force, but it’s only cosmetic damage and it will still protect him from bumps and bruises. The night’s curled in closer, held back only by the bike’s valiant spurt of light, and it’s a slower ride back to their place.

In the house, and Kylo checks the comm for anything urgent. Nothing that won’t wait. He does the night time rounds of the property, then finds Poe in the bathroom. He’s stripped to just his boxers, hands gripping the basin as he stares at the drain, spaced out. He’s tired, but it’s emotional tired.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” he asks, gently.  


“Yeah.”  


“Get in bed. I’ll be right behind you.”  


“…’kay.”  


Sometimes, when a soldier’s in post-battle shock, gentle commands help. Kylo can’t remember where he heard that, but it’s something he’s used a few times. Just gentle guiding, framing things in a way that makes sense. Poe’s drained and vulnerable, and Kylo would never do anything to harm him. All he wants is to let him sleep feeling more secure than he does right now.

While Poe climbs into bed he runs through his own rituals as fast as he can, stripping down to nothing and cleaning his face, hands, teeth. When he goes back into the bedroom Poe is curled up under the duvet, pulled up almost to his nose. It’s not that cold, but it’s shock making him feel it. 

He recognises the symptoms. 

In behind him, and he spoons along Poe’s back. Poe’s done this plenty of times for him, and he wants to return the favour. 

“Ky…”  


“Yes, love?”  


“Will… I…”  


Poe can’t say it, which shows how broken down he’s feeling. He’s rarely pushed beyond his confidence, so Kylo slips into his mind to read the silent plea. _Please. I **need** you_.

He understands that, too. _Always. Always._

Poe trembles in the arms around him, and Kylo strokes his hand over his chest. A flat, warm swipe that uses the thumb to knead deep at his flank as he does, and then slides over to pinch and tug softly at his nipples. Poe whimpers, and Kylo kisses behind his ear as he keeps up the light contact. He plays Poe’s body like the fine instrument it is, chasing electric currents of pleasure and guiding the tides higher by attentive focus. His lover reaches over his shoulder to hold onto Kylo’s hair, and whispers _yeses_ and _pleases_ and _love yous_.

Lower, and Kylo strokes over his groin. The boxers have long since been shucked off, and he spreads heat into his inner thighs, then down to his balls. He cups and fondles them softly, then urges Poe to part his legs. 

The pilot does so, willingly, and Kylo shuffles so his cock rises between them. He closes Poe’s thighs around him, and lines his own cock under Poe’s balls and shaft. Slow, slow rolls of his hips, and he takes Poe’s dick in his palm. He doesn’t jerk over it, just kneads it between his fingers and lets the rocking motion urge him against his grip.

“Ky…”  


“Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”  


“Ky, I– I– _fuck_  I love you…”  


“I know,” he says, and nuzzles along his collarbone. “I love you, too.”  


He keeps the gradual pace up for as long as he can, knowing it’s more about the closeness than the end result. Poe is already exhausted, and he wants to fuck him to sleep. He knows the minute Poe climaxes that he’ll drift and glide, and that’s what he’s aiming for. That distant, hazy pleasure and the flood of painkilling endorphins that will make his dreams more pleasant without the adrenaline poisoning his system. He’s had enough of that for today, and now it’s time to come down.

Kylo doesn’t even know how long they lie like that: little hissing breaths and moans, little turns of heads into pillows, little shakes of thighs and arches of backs. He screws himself as slowly as he can against Poe’s body, takes it on and on until he can feel Poe starting to wind up too far. He might be tempted to push through and extend the high if Poe wasn’t already overwrought, so instead he speeds up his wracking, hand moving to beat him vigorously and intently.

Poe’s gone beyond words, now, and he just makes desperate little noises as Kylo uses and abuses and loves and adores him. When he comes, it’s almost a relief to know he can. Kylo did wonder briefly if he’d taken it too long, but then the snap and the spurt hit his hand and Kylo chokes hold of Poe’s dick as he grunts his own attempt, rubbing one off against his balls and letting his seed mix with Poe’s on the sheets below him. 

Breathe. Breathe. Poe’s almost gone, and he tugs him backwards out of the damp patch. He owes him that courtesy, if nothing else.

“Th-thank–”  


“Shh,” Kylo says. “It’s okay. Sleep, Poe. Sleep.”  


“…’kay,” he vagues, slipping out from this world and into the darker one of dreams.   


Kylo makes sure he watches the first few, ready to nudge them back to happier grounds, but they’re mercifully calm. Still. Won’t hurt to push some peace into them.


End file.
